


Can't Fight This Feeling

by laurasroslin



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Best Friends, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Give me Hopper/Byers family endgame or give me death, Hurt/Comfort, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:01:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 17,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22368367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurasroslin/pseuds/laurasroslin
Summary: The first bell rang, a piercing screech.  The familiar thud of feet boomed overhead and they both looked up, instinctively.“High school is different than junior high,” he observed, his eyes still lingering on the steps above them.  “Things change.”“Well…we won’t let it,” she cut in, fiercely.  “Promise?”Best friends to lovers. My take on the missing pieces of Joyce and Hopper's story, told through their alternating POVs over the years. Originally inspired by their reminiscing in 2x2.  Spoilers through S3, this will cover their childhood through present day. Special shoutout to REO Speedwagon for the title, and for having literally an entire discography that reminds me of Joyce/Hop in some way or another.  All comments are welcome.
Relationships: Chrissy Carpenter/Jim "Chief" Hopper, Eleven | Jane Hopper & Jim "Chief" Hopper, Joyce Byers & Eleven | Jane Hopper, Joyce Byers & Jim "Chief" Hopper, Joyce Byers & Will Byers, Joyce Byers/Jim "Chief" Hopper, Joyce Byers/Lonnie Byers, Will Byers & Jim "Chief" Hopper
Comments: 30
Kudos: 57





	1. Prologue

**December, 1984**

“You miss her.”

It was a statement, not a question. Jim Hopper snuck a peek at his daughter, who was standing calmly beside him. She continued to dry the plate in her hand, meticulously rubbing the side of it with the blue-checkered dishcloth. Part of him wondered if he had imagined her saying it. He turned his attention to the small window in front of him. Snow fell heavily outside, blanketing the ground in a sheet of white that stretched on forever.

It was December 13th. Thursday. They took Will to Hawkins Lab on Thursdays. He glanced sideways again at Eleven. He wasn’t sure he would ever be able to call her Jane. She had stopped washing the dishes and stared intently at him, in that way she did. Like she could really _see_ him. There was only one other person who knew him so completely. That familiar pang hit him, and he hated that she could sense it.

“Stop looking at me that way, kid.” Hopper shoved his hands into the soapy bubbles, avoiding her gaze. For a moment, the scalding water burned that feeling away. He was grateful. Their cabin grew silent again, the snow muting the usual sounds of the water gurgling in the nearby stream, squirrels and birds screaming at each other, leaves rustling as the wind danced through the trees.

He handed her another chipped plate. He needed to buy new ones.

“Friends don’t lie,” Eleven commanded, placing her right hand on her hip. Defeated, he dropped the cup in his hands back into the water, making a loud clink. He turned to fully face her, gripping the edge of the sink. She was standing on a short stool, and still only came up to his shoulders. She squinted fiercely at him. 

Jim Hopper knew that she had him. “I know,” he answered. Except it wasn’t an answer. Not really.

“Friends tell the truth,” she persisted, her big brown eyes boring holes into his.

“I know,” his voice rose in frustration and he leaned over the sink, gripping it tighter.

El placed her hand on his arm and he lifted his eyes. El’s face softened and she let go of his arm, holding her hand out. He placed another dish in her palm. She turned back to the task in front of her. Hopper glanced over at the calendar again. Where those little red letters were no longer etched into that small white square.

As if on cue, that pang hit him once again. Loneliness.

“She misses you, too,” Eleven murmured. 

They finished washing the dishes in silence.


	2. May, 1964

**May, 1964**

Joyce took a drag from the cigarette. Coughing violently, she thrust the unfiltered cigarette at him. “Hopper!” She exclaimed. She began coughing violently again. “Disgusting.” He gave her that lopsided grin of his, taking it back from her eagerly. A cloud of smoke billowed around them. “My dad is gonna kick my ass if we get caught.”

Hopper’s eyes shone mischievously. “That’s why we won’t get caught.” 

Joyce delivered a playful punch to his arm. Hopper took another long drag. They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments. Joyce drew circles on the ground with her leather boot, watching the small swirls the dust particles made on the cold, cement ground. She reached her hand out. He handed her the cigarette and she took another inhale, coughing again, before handing it back.

She glanced over at him, shyly. He was starting to look like a man now. The beginnings of stubble had appeared on his chin and cheeks. He was self-conscious about it. She would never admit it, but she thought he looked handsome.

“Are you nervous?” He blurted. She blinked, twice, opening and closing her mouth. 

“No,” she lied. He was studying her face, his eyes tracing her features. Memorizing them. The first bell rang, a piercing screech. The familiar thud of feet boomed overhead and they both looked up, instinctively. 

“High school is different than junior high,” he observed, his eyes still lingering on the steps above them. “Things change.”

“Well…we won’t let it,” she cut in, fiercely. “Promise?” Hopper sighed, wiping a hand over his face, before taking another drag from the cigarette.

“Hopper,” she commanded. He looked back over at her. He was studying her again. He had been doing that a lot lately. 

The piercing shriek of the second bell echoed around them and they glanced up again in unison. The last of the footsteps banged on the steps, eagerly seeking their destination.

Joyce lowered her gaze. She felt the beginnings of fear in the far reaches of her mind. His serious face suddenly transformed into a grin. Her favorite smile. “Promise.” He held out his hand and she shook it.

“Hey! Assholes!” Joyce and Hopper jumped and turned around. Cooper. 

“Fuck. Run!” Hopper grabbed her hand and tore down the steps. Her little feet were no match for his long, gangly legs. She felt momentarily like she was flying. They came to a crashing halt in front of their sixth period math class. He glanced at her slyly. “See? Trick is not to get caught.” He let go and opened the door.

She could still feel the warmth of his hand in hers as she followed him into the classroom.


	3. March, 1982

**March, 1982**

Hopper slammed on the brakes as the doe jumped out in front of his car. He came to a screeching halt a few feet in front of it. “Goddamit!” He yelled, slamming his fist down on the wheel. The deer stared at him, its eyes wide, frozen in fear. He laid on the horn, penetrating the eerie silence of the woods. It turned and fled back into the trees. Hopper sat back in his seat, his heart beating rapidly, and flicked on his high beams.

Up ahead, he saw the swirling lights of Callahan’s police cruiser in the driveway of the Byers’ house, casting long shadows into the trees. He sped up and pulled in behind the cruiser, yanking on the parking brake. The blue and red lights twirled around, casting shadows in the darkness. The tree limbs stretched out towards him, grasping…....He shivered and wrapped his coat tighter around his shoulders.

Joyce was standing in the doorway, her arms hugging her chest in the cold. The red and blue lights revealed every line of her face in the dark. Hopper slammed the door to his suburban, and his feet crunched heavily in the frozen grass as he made his way towards the front door. The front window was shattered, and glass lay all over the porch, small jagged pieces scattering into the lawn with every brief gust of wind.

“Lonnie was back in town. Claimed that Joyce owed him some money. He got angry and threw a chair through the window,” Officer Callahan recited from his notepad, not bothering to look up at Joyce or Hopper.

“He’s gone,” Joyce snapped at him. “This is really unnecessary. We’re fine. I need to put my boys back to bed.” She turned from the two men to go back inside her house.

“Ma’am, we still need to take you into town, to have you checked out…”

“She can take care of herself,” Hopper interrupted gruffly. “Callahan, go shut off those goddamn lights they’re giving me a splitting headache.” Hopper reached into his pocket, pulled out his lighter, and lit a cigarette. Callahan stalked off, muttering to himself.

“Hopper, can we please just…” Joyce started. 

“What did I tell you, hmm?” Hopper growled, taking a drag from the cigarette and lifting his face to blow smoke into the air. In truth, he WAS starting to get a headache. 

The pair were suddenly bathed in darkness, the blue and red lights gone. Joyce’s face fell half into shadow, the light from the living room peering through the door. There were dark circles under her eyes. Hopper thought then that he might like to strangle the life out of Lonnie Byers. He reached up to massage his temples.

Joyce was staring at him, her hands clenching and unclenching into tiny fists at her side. She looked away from him for a moment, and then collapsed in on herself. Her tiny frame shrinking even smaller, she put her hands over her face. She was taking deep breaths in and out. In and out. In and….

“You know…it didn’t used to be like this?” She wiped her hands down her face and looked up at him, as if desperate for him to understand, to remember. 

_He remembered_. 

Instinctively, he handed her his cigarette. She took a long drag, coughed, and handed it back.

“Get the kids back to sleep.” He flicked the cigarette down onto the porch, and ground it underneath his boot. “And you, CALL me, if he comes back, do you understand?” His voice sounded much sterner then he intended.

She hesitated.

“Promise,” he demanded. She looked him up and down, before nodding again. She turned around and went back inside, shutting the door behind her. 

Hopper could feel the shadows from the trees reaching for him as he trudged back to the suburban.


	4. September, 1966

**September, 1966**

“Joyce!” 

She turned her head. She was picked up and twirled around in the air so quickly, she shrieked. She was dropped unceremoniously to the ground, lips pressed against hers. The stale taste of cigarettes hit her mouth, and the smell of fresh cologne tingled in her nose. Lonnie. She leaned in further, wrapping her arms around his neck. After a few moments, he pulled away and did his own quick spin, his hands in his pockets. “What do you think?”

He was sporting a brand-new black leather jacket. He’d combed his hair back, and perched his sunglasses on top of his head. Her head filling with the thrill of him again, she grinned. “Sexy,” she twisted her hair between her fingers, a coy smile on her lips.

He reached for her. “My parents are away tonight,” he whispered into her ear. 

She giggled. “I have a science project due tomorrow.”

“Come on, what does it matter, you’re failing anyway,” he whispered conspiratorially. She shoved him. “Am not.” She closed the locker behind her and picked up her pack that had fallen to the ground. “I promised Hopper.” He rolled his eyes as she turned away.

“My place. Eight-o-clock!” He shouted down the hallway as she walked towards the lab. She smiled to herself as she traipsed the remaining few feet and pulled open the door, nearly plowing straight into Chrissy Carpenter.

Chrissy gave her a sour look, held her head up, and marched out of the room. “What’s up with her?” Joyce gestured at Chrissy’s fading figure. Hopper lit a cigarette, exhaling at the ceiling. He grimaced slightly. “How much of this do we still have to do?”

She rolled her eyes and swatted at the cloud of smoke surrounding him. She sat down gingerly on the stool. “What, you got a hot date tonight with the sourpuss?” 

She detested Chrissy Carpenter.

“Weren’t you two like, best friends in junior high?” Hopper squinted pointedly at her. Joyce ignored him, opening the chemistry book with a bang on her desk. Instinctively, Hopper handed her his cigarette. She took a puff and handed it back to him.

The room grew too silent. She picked her head up, a sarcastic remark on her lips. It died away at the look on his face. She suddenly felt self-conscious. “What?”

“You smoke unfiltered now?” He asked carefully, searching her eyes. 

She turned away, fixating intently on the book. “Lonnie does,” she shrugged, answering honestly.

She snuck a glance back at him. Hopper was pursing his lips. He took another drag from his cigarette and put it out in a chemistry beaker filled with a clear liquid.

“Hopper you can’t just put out your cigarette…”

“Just remembered. Promised the old man I would help him clean out the shed. I’ll pay Bob the Brain to finish the project up.” He shut his book abruptly, startling Joyce. “Or better yet, you ask him to do it. He’s in love with you, anyway, he’ll do it for free.”

“Hopper, where are you….” Joyce tried again. But he was already out the door by the time she managed to climb off the high-seated stool.

 _Sometimes, she hated him_.


	5. July, 1984

**July, 1984**

Hopper pushed open the double doors of Hawkins Lab, immediately shielding his face with a groan. Today had been another scorcher, and even at 5:30p.m. it was still 180 degrees. “Jesus Christ, it’s hot as hell out here,” he groaned.

“Hopper!” Joyce exclaimed. Will smiled briefly before strolling ahead towards the car. It was worth it to him if it made the kid smile. Will never smiled. 

As if reading his mind, Joyce nudged him. “Hey! He’s been doing better the last few weeks. He’s been having fewer nightmares.” Since when did Joyce need to start reassuring him?

He lit a cigarette and leaned over the guardrail, facing the parking lot. He watched Will kick at a rock as he walked back towards the car. Joyce lit her own cigarette and matched his movements, exhaling deeply towards the sky. 

“Jonathan tested into the advanced literature course,” Joyce remarked proudly, flicking a few ashes into the bushes. “Nancy came over yesterday afternoon and helped him prepare. He will need it to get into NYU.” She paused and leaned in towards him. “I think he likes her.” Her smile made her eyes light up as a rare, cool breeze passed by, blowing the little pieces of hair around her face into the air.

For a fleeting moment, he wished that glow in her eyes was for him. He banished the thought, taking another drag of the cigarette. “That’s great, Joyce. Then again, doesn’t take much to be better students than we were.” She playfully punched his arm. He glanced sideways at her, grinning. She grinned back.

“Hey Mom, Mom. Don’t forget we need to stop by the video store. It’s movie night with Bob.” Will had reappeared behind Hopper, eagerly bouncing back and forth between his feet. Hopper felt the smile instantly leave his face. The small beads of sweat dripping down his neck suddenly grew cold.

“Ok, baby, ok,” Joyce reached for Will, kissing him on the top of the head. “We’re leaving in a minute.” Joyce turned back to Hopper. He quickly re-directed his attention to the railing. Someone had scratched “Stacy loves Mike” into the wood. He traced it briefly with his finger before inhaling another mouth full of smoke.

“I was going to tell you.” Joyce’s quiet voice reverberated around in his mind. He took another puff of the cigarette before flicking it to the cement. He ground it down with his foot. His head was spinning. 

“Bob the Brain from high school,” she chuckled, her voice tinged with nostalgia. “We started seeing each other about a month ago…it got serious kind of fast….” Her voice sounded distant to his ears. Far away. He started towards his car.

“Hopper.” She touched his arm. The spinning in his head stopped and he turned back towards her. “I should have told you, it’s just….”

“You don’t owe me an explanation, Joyce,” Hopper shrugged. “I need to get back to the station.” Except he didn’t need to go back to the station. For the first time in months, he wanted a bottle of whiskey.

“Hop, I…I wasn’t trying to keep it from you, it…it just always seemed like an awkward time to mention it.” She was pleading with him now. For what, he didn’t know. Did she want his blessing?

“It sounds great Joyce, listen you let me know if anything changes with Will and I will see you next week, ok?” He patted her outstretched hand and slouched the rest of the way to his suburban, shutting the door behind him. He backed out of the parking space and changed gears, glancing out of the rearview mirror. She was still standing in the same spot he left her, staring at his car as it exited the lot. 

He clicked on the radio and turned the sound all the way up.


	6. September, 1963

**September, 1963**

Joyce leaned her head back against the cool brick, her foot braced against the wall, tuning out Chrissy Carpenter’s chortling. She took a final drag of the cigarette, listening for the bell.

“Joyce? Joyce!” Chrissy snapped her fingers in front of her face. Joyce blinked, focusing back in on her friend. Chrissy put her hands on her hips. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Sure, Chrissy.” She reached towards the trashcan to put the cigarette out.

Chrissy rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Look, I’ll be over around 7, okay? You sure your parents will be gone by then?” Joyce nodded, changing her mind about putting her cigarette out. She stuck it back in her mouth.

“Cool.” Chrissy paused and then grinned mischievously. “You should invite Jim over, too, we could…”

“He’s busy, tonight,” Joyce interrupted gruffly, the cigarette hanging out of her mouth. Chrissy’s recent interest in Hopper was grating her nerves.

“Alright,” Chrissy shrugged. “I have Cooper fourth period, so I better get inside. See you.”

Joyce was watching Chrissy walk away when she heard a shout. Frowning, she glanced around. The shout came again, louder this time. She picked up her backpack, throwing it across her shoulder. There was a third shout, this time punctuated with what sounded vaguely like laughter.

Her brow furrowed, she followed the sound towards the football bleachers, her boots clicking against the sidewalk. She turned the corner of the bleachers. Lonnie Byers was leaning over a chubby brown-haired boy, whose head was bent over in shame. John and Billy were holding his arms in an outstretched position.

Joyce took the cigarette out of her mouth and flicked it to the ground, grinding it out with her sneaker. “What is this??”

Lonnie stood up, sneering. He sauntered over towards Joyce, crossing his arms over his chest as he approached her, planting his feet. “Horowitz.”

Joyce crossed her own arms, mocking his movements. “Byers.” She looked him up and down. “Hawkins’ resident asshole.” 

The sneer fell off his features and anger replaced it, heat rising in his cheeks. “This is none of your business. Get out of here.” 

Her arms still crossed, she glanced around his shoulders and turned back to face him. “What has this boy ever done to you?”

“Oh, you mean, aside from being a fat fuck?” John and Billy snickered and the boy whimpered, struggling slightly again before giving up and slouching back against their knees.

Joyce’s eyes narrowed. “Leave him alone, Lonnie.” 

“Or what?” He mocked, spreading his arms wide. “You’ll kick my ass?”

“Maybe I will.” She cocked her head sideways, eyeing him up. “Yeah. I could probably take you.” She turned towards the older two boys. “What do you think?”

John and Billy gaped in shock, heads turning back and forth between Lonnie and Joyce. Lonnie took a few steps towards her, his chest sticking out. Her head only came to his shoulders, but she squinted in defiance anyway.

He leaned his face in dangerously close to hers. “I dare you.”

Joyce gave a quick, forceful push to his chest. Unprepared, Lonnie stumbled backwards a few feet, regaining his balance. “Get OUT of here, Lonnie Byers,” she snarled. 

Lonnie started towards her and then stopped. He looked her up and down one more time, his pride getting the better of him. “Whatever. Let’s go. He isn’t worth it.” They shoved the chubby boy forward. Caught off guard, he wobbled on his knees for a second before faceplanting onto the black concrete, the wind knocked out of him. Joyce watched Lonnie go, only uncrossing her arms when he was out of sight.

She walked over holding out her hand. “Come on. Let me help you up.” 

He took her hand gratefully, using his other to get himself the rest of the way to his feet. “Thanks.”

“You shouldn’t let them pick on you like that. They’re just a bunch of bull….hey…don’t I know you?” She paused, squinting at his familiar features.

“I’m new this year. We’re in the same English class,” he mumbled, staring down at the dirt.

“Well then, it’s nice to meet you, ahhhh…” she paused, scanning her head for a name. Nothing.

“Bob Newby.”

Joyce smiled. “Nice to meet you, Bob Newby.” He shook her outstretched hand.


	7. February, 1979

**February, 1979**

Hopper jolted awake, bracing himself against the sides of the couch. He looked around the dark trailer before groaning and collapsing back against the cushions. His head was pounding. The noise came again, a light rapping on the door to his trailer. “Hopper?” The wind outside his trailer howled, muffling the woman’s voice. Frowning, Hopper managed to roll himself over onto his elbows and grabbed the clock on the end table. 7:04p.m. Hungover on a Tuesday night.

A new record.

“Hopper!” The wind howled even louder, rattling the shutters. The voice sounded familiar. “Not interested!” He yelled back at the door. Re-positioning himself down onto the side of the couch, he squeezed his eyes shut. He scanned his brain for a memory of the voice. The Hawkins High School Secretary? The Librarian? Old Mrs. Jenkins’ granddaughter?

“Hopper, come on! It’s cold as a witch’s tit out here!”

Hopper’s eyes flew open. He scrambled off the couch, his feet tangling in the small blanket draped over his legs. He face-planted on the cold tile floor. “Oof,” he mumbled, standing up quickly. He grabbed the t-shirt draped over the kitchen table, scanning the small trailer as he pulled the shirt over his head. Grunting, he grabbed the scattered beer cans littering the coffee table and dumped them into the trashcan. He clambered over to the door of his trailer.

“Jim Hopper! Would you open this…..!” Hopper threw open the door, interrupting Joyce Byers’ exclamation. She drew back slightly in shock, nearly dropping the glass container of casserole in her hands. He stared at her.

“Hi, Hop.” The shock turned into a small smile that lit up her eyes. Wordlessly, he stood aside to allow her entry. Stamping her feet by the door, she shivered briefly. “Chicken casserole. I figured you would need a warm meal.” She handed him the dish, and then wrapped her arms around her shoulders, hugging herself as she glanced inside the tiny trailer.

He took it, shutting the door with his foot. He looked down at the aluminum foil cover, smirking in amusement. “But you’re a shit cook.” 

She rolled her eyes, but her mouth twitched into another small smile. She sat down at the kitchen table and he pulled up the chair beside her, placing the casserole dish between them. Impulsively, he reached for the cigarettes in his non-existent breast pocket. Joyce pulled out her own packet from her jeans and handed him one. He lit the cigarette, chucking the lighter carelessly on the table and leaning back, his hands behind his neck.

“I had to hear from Chrissy Carpenter that you were home,” Joyce lit her own, leaning her face towards the ceiling to let out a puff of smoke. Hopper felt a small pang of shame at the mention of Chrissy’s name. How quickly he had crawled back into her bed.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” he inhaled deeply, blowing smoke at the dying bouquet of flowers sitting in the vase across from him. He wasn’t being completely untruthful. The deteriorated state of Joyce and Lonnie’s marriage was no secret in Hawkins. He’d heard more than one offhand, snide comment at the local bar in town. At least he’d had the luxury of fleeing.

Then again, she had always been braver than him. As if reading his mind, Joyce brought a shaking hand up to her mouth, inhaling the cigarette deeply. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.” She leaned in and put the cigarette out in the ashtray, letting out a final exhale of smoke.

He didn’t respond to her comment and she didn’t push him. The wind howled again. Joyce shivered in response. The silence stretched out.

“I better go.” She stood up slowly, her hands on her thighs. “Lonnie will raise a stink about where I’ve been.” She gestured lazily at the casserole. “You don’t have to eat that.”

Hopper followed her to the door. He opened it, a blast of freezing air flying into the trailer and smacking the door against the paneling with a loud thud. Joyce took a step outside and then turned back to him, her hand gripping the door.

“What happened to us?” Her features were more pronounced in the garish yellow light hanging over the makeshift wooden porch. She looked far older than her thirty years. Her big, brown eyes carried a sadness now, the old playful gleam a distant memory of the past.

“We grew up.” The truth of the words stung, hanging limply in the air. 

Joyce nodded, her mouth in a straight line. “See ya around, Hop.”

He watched her go, trembling in the February air.


	8. June, 1956

**June, 1956**

“You DESTROYED them!” Hopper jumped up and down punching his fist into the sky. “You were like _bam_ , _pow_ , _WHAM_!” He dramatically kicked an invisible dodgeball with his foot, his muddy sneaker cutting through the air, shoelaces flying.

Joyce grinned proudly. She stopped and put her hands on her hips briefly, her muddied, tattered dress blowing briefly behind her in the wind. She then shot her hands in the air in a mock superhero pose, tearing down the street. Hopper ran after her, hooting and hollering. He nearly collided into the back of her when she suddenly stopped in the middle of the street.

“My Aunt Darlene says I’m not very lady-like and no boy will ever want to marry me,” Joyce was staring down at her dress now, holding it out in front of her. Dejected, she turned to face Hopper, her face cast downwards. “She says I shouldn’t be playing dodgeball with boys.”

“Who cares what she says,” Hopper interrupted. “Besides, I’ll marry you. If no other boys will.” He grinned at her, revealing a missing front tooth.

Joyce pulled back, her face scrunched in disgust. “Ew! But that means we would have to kiss and stuff. Like our parents do.” She leaned in closer, whispering, “Alice Gilbert says if you kiss a lot, it makes a baby.” 

Hopper looked momentarily horrified. His face suddenly changed into one of frustration and he smacked his hand to his forehead. “I almost forgot about your birthday present!” He grabbed her hand and started running down the street. “Where are we going?” She yelled.

He ignored her, veering off the street and onto a dirt path towards the woods. He hastily brushed past some bushes that swung around and whacked Joyce in the face as she trailed behind him. 

He ground to a halt in front of their large wooden tree house, a makeshift contraption surrounded by bushes on all sides. Its base sat six feet off the ground, a poorly constructed hodge podge of boards nailed together. A half-worn roof of planks sat over the back half of the tree house, leaning dangerously close to the base and covered in leaves and bird shit. Joyce sputtered, grabbing bits of bush out of her mouth as Hopper let go of her hand and raced up the crooked wooden steps that swayed back and forth as his feet pounded against them.

He re-appeared from the corner of the tree house holding something up in his hand triumphantly. He tore back down the steps over towards Joyce, handing her a small, blocky piece of wood in the vague shape of a person. He had painted the head of it a sharp brown. Bright red paint covered the body, the shoulders, and the legs. A dress. A matching red cape was attached around the neck. He thrust it at her, breathing heavily. “Here.”

Joyce gingerly took it, turning it around in her hands. “Wha….what is it?”

A look of hurt flashed across his features. “It’s you, dummy! See, it’s got brown hair and it’s wearing a dress!” He reached over and pointed at the lumpy head and misshapen body. “But it has a superhero cape just like Wonder Woman!” He grinned at her, expectantly. “My old man let me use his shop to make it. He said it looks shitty, but I think it looks just like you,” he puffed out his chest with pride.

Joyce’s soft brown eyes grew wide and she held it closer to her. “I love it,” she murmured.

He snatched it from her and held it out in front of him. “Last one to the end of the block is a rotten egg!” Her laughter echoed through the trees as they raced down the street.


	9. March, 1984

**March, 1984**

“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, to you! Happy birthday dear Willlllllll”

“iammmm” Dustin projected a mocking, deep singing bass over the group that earned him an annoyed look from Lucas. “Happy birthday to youuuuuuuu.” Will smiled around the table at his friends, before leaning in and blowing out all the candles on his cake in one breath. Mike and Lucas cheered loudly, as Jonathan rustled the hair on the top of his brother’s head. “I’m gonna cut you the largest piece!”

Hopper looked out at the extended throng of kids. Dustin and Lucas were now arguing about something and Will was staring intently at the cake. He stuck his finger into the icing and pulled it back out again, glancing around quickly to see if anyone noticed before sticking his finger in his mouth. Mike, jumping back and forth on each leg in front of Joyce, pointed at Will and the cake, while Jonathan tried to separate Dustin and Lucas. Joyce’s response to Mike’s excited exclamation was drowned out in the noise.

Feeling out of place, Hopper turned away and walked outside, noiselessly shutting the front door behind him. He pulled out his package of Camels and lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply and exhaling into the chilly March air. He leaned over the railing of the front porch and clasped his hands in front of him. He stared down at the small blue hair tie on his wrist.

Hopper heard the door open and turned to see Joyce slowly approaching him. She had pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail. “Hey.” Hopper took another drag from the cigarette. They stood in silence, watching the rustling of the trees.

“She would be 13 next month,” he breathed out, flicking the ashes from the tip of the cigarette into the bushes. He wasn’t sure why he told her that. Joyce gently placed her left hand over his right one. He hadn’t realized how tightly he was gripping the railing. He felt himself relax slightly at her touch.

She held his hand for a few moments. The noise of the kids inside sounded like a dull murmur behind the closed door. Hopper handed her his cigarette. 

“You never got back to me about coming with us to Hawkins Lab,” she took a puff of the cigarette and coughed, handing it back to him. 

“Been busy,” he lied. He put out the cigarette on the railing. He’d been avoiding her. Eleven had taken to interrogating him about their past. He didn’t know how to answer her questions.

She sighed, squeezing his hand and letting it go. Hopper reached into the pocket of his shirt for another cigarette. The packet was empty. “Son of a bitch!” His emotions unchecked he swore, throwing the empty sleeve to the ground, stomping the heel of his boot on it.

He looked up at Joyce, his nostrils flaring in anger. He couldn’t read the look on her face. She reached up and gently cupped his face with her hand, her thumb caressing his chin. She pulled her hand back, and handed him the packet of her own cigarettes from her back pocket.

“Thursday is the first appointment. We’ll see you, then.” Her voice was firm as she turned away and walked back into the house, shutting the door behind her.

Hopper lit Joyce’s cigarette and bent over the railing again, fiddling with the hair tie. His thoughts turned back to Sara.


	10. October, 1967 (Part I)

**October, 1967 (Part I)**

Joyce lifted her hand, wiping her sweaty palm on her thigh, and knocked. She heard loud footsteps and the door opened. “I’m looking for Hopp….Jim,” she corrected.

David Hopper looked her up and down briefly, a vague look of disgust on his face. He gestured over to the work shed. 

“Thank you.” He shut the door in her face, her words ignored. Squaring her shoulders, Joyce turned and headed for the old, faded woodshed. She was reaching for the handle when the door flew open, nearly knocking into her protruding belly.

“Oh my God…Joyce!” Hopper exclaimed in shock. He reached for her hands. “What are you doing here?”

He was wearing his uniform, black boots polished and laced, his hair slicked back and face clean-shaven. She turned her attention to the large green knapsack by his feet just outside the shed door. His helmet was perched on top of the bag. “When are you leaving?”

He glanced down at the pack, and then back up again at her. “Tonight.” He paused. “What are you doing here?” He asked her again, quieter this time.

“I…” Joyce stopped. She brushed her sneaker around in the dirt, nervously, her hands still in his. “I…came to say good-bye,” she finished. He looked confused. She suddenly felt stupid. Taking her hands out of his, she took a step backwards. “I should go.”

“No! Wait,” he reached out, grabbing her arm again. “You’re…going to be okay…right?” Of course, he was worried about her. She glanced down at his hand, still reassuringly holding her arm. 

“I’ll be fine,” Joyce waved her other hand at him nonchalantly. “Lonnie’s going to marry me.” She couldn’t seem to look at him. She felt a kick to her rib. Wincing, she put her hand to the side of her belly, rubbing it quickly.

“Listen…I better get back inside,” that hurt in his eyes she had grown so accustomed to seeing was back. She didn’t know how to fix it. How to make it go away. He grabbed for the door of the shed to shut it behind him. 

Joyce took a deep breath. Reaching into the pocket of the sweatshirt wrapped around her belly, she pulled out the small wooden figure and handed it to him. “Here…I want you to take this.”

The paint all but worn off, and the red cape faded to a brown, rusty color, the little wooden Wonder Woman looked imperceptible now. Hopper took it from her, bandying it about in his hands. “You kept this shitty thing all these years?”

“It’s not shitty!” She exclaimed, defensively. She reached over and gently touched the faded cape with her fingers. “It’s a good luck charm.” She smiled, the memory flooding back again. His blue eyes met hers, misty with restrained emotion. It brought unbidden tears to her own eyes. She reached up and wiped them away. “Hormones,” she lied. 

Suddenly, she found herself swept into his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders, his cheek resting on her head. 

_He’ll never hold me like this again_. Joyce closed her eyes, burying her face into his chest, breathing him in one last time.

He let go just as suddenly, taking a step backwards. “You better go,” his voice broke. He was gripping Wonder Woman in his hand. Joyce nodded, wiping her eyes again. “Come back safely.”

He nodded, picked up his pack and helmet, and walked back towards the house. Holding her belly, she started off in the opposite direction.


	11. April, 1985

**April, 1985**

“Ow. Ow. OW!” Hopper wrenched his hand away, shaking it up and down. “Jesus Christ, Joyce!”

Joyce rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand again, pulling it back towards her and setting it firmly in her lap. “Stop being such a baby.” Using her other hand, she took the hand towel, dipped it in rubbing alcohol, and wrapped it around his left palm, holding it there.

Gritting his teeth, Hopper squeezed his right hand into a tight fist, banging it against his thigh as his left hand began throbbing. He still didn’t understand how he had managed to slice through his palm with a pair of garden shears. 

“I still don’t understand how you managed to cut your hand with a pair of garden shears, Hopper,” she fussed. Removing the towel from his hand she reached into the First Aid Kit and pulled the bandage out. He took a deep breath, the pain in his hand fading to a dull throbbing. She started wrapping the bandage around his palm, reaching up to wipe the back of her hand over her forehead. It had been unseasonably warm today. Small beads of sweat glistened on her forehead, little wisps of her dark hair curling around her hairline. She had just gotten home from her shift at Melvad’s when he stumbled inside the house, cursing and thrusting his bleeding hand under the faucet.

“All done, no stitches. I think you’ll survive, Officer.” She crinkled her nose slightly, teasing him, and smiled (A real smile!) that touched her eyes. He found himself unable to look away from her.

She broke his gaze, looking down. She was still holding his hand. Her left hand was under his, her right gently covering his palm. Slowly, she pulled away, clasping them together in her lap.

“I appreciate you helping Jonathan with the yard these last few weeks. I…I’ve had to work double shifts,” she said quietly, still staring down at her clasped hands.

“I was glad to help,” Hopper’s voice was so low, it was almost a whisper. The air in the room had shifted, and he suddenly found it difficult to breathe. “He’s a good kid,” he added. His voice sounded foreign to his ears. 

Joyce was still staring down at her clasped hands. She took a deep breath, and looked up at Hopper. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without him when he goes off to college,” she shrugged casually, avoiding his gaze. Maybe someone else would have missed the faint glisten of tears in her eyes, or the way her breath caught as she spoke. But not Hopper.

“Hey,” he said gently. He reached over, lifting her chin. “He’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.” 

Her eyes were fixed intensely on his. She opened her mouth and closed it again. “Hop, I….” she started, and stopped. Her eyes flickered down to his lips briefly before meeting his again. The overwhelming desire to gently bring her lips to his erupted through his body, coursing through him like a powerful current.

The back door banged open.

They both jumped, their hands falling into their laps, as Jonathan walked behind them towards the kitchen sink. He nudged the faucet on with his arm, sticking his muddied hands under the water. 

Joyce nervously jolted out of her seat, backing a few feet away from Hopper, that familiar mask of fear and guilt plastered across her face. _It was gone, whatever it was. Gone._

Jonathan turned from the faucet and looked at Hopper, then back over at his mother. Realization dawning, Jonathan's face flushed with embarrassment.

Feeling a bit like a caged animal, Hopper swallowed thickly. “I…”

“We…..we have to get dinner ready.” Joyce turned her back and walked over to the sink. She opened a cabinet and grabbed a casserole dish off the shelf.

“Mom….” Jonathan hesitated. “You…you aren’t going to ask Hopper to stay?”

“I need to get back home to El,” Hopper forced a small smile. “See ya tomorrow, Jonathan.” He risked another glimpse at Joyce, who was now bent over the sink, gripping the edge of it for dear life, her hair hiding her face.

Hopper turned and stalked to the front door, throwing it open and yanking it closed, loudly, behind him.

His hand was throbbing.


	12. April, 1967

**April, 1967**

Joyce inhaled the spring air deeply. Another small wave of nausea hit, and she re-settled back down against the back of the bench, her bony elbows holding up her tiny frame. The football field was empty, save two members of the track team utilizing the peace and quiet to jog briskly around the black top. _God, these bleachers were uncomfortable._

Joyce felt the bleachers swaying slightly as his footsteps approached. She looked up, shielding her face with her hand against the setting sun. Hopper plopped down beside her, stretching his feet out on the bleachers in front of him, his arms crossed behind his neck as he leaned backwards. A cigarette hung lazily out of his mouth. “Why did you want to see me, Joyce?” He asked, his voice slightly muffled. It was strangely devoid of emotion.

She stared ahead at the members of the track team, closing her eyes slowly and opening them again. Taking a deep breath, she sat up, and clasped her hands together tightly in front of her. “I’m pregnant.” Her hands were shaking. She could see the whites of her knuckles.

Silence. Something deep within the pit of her stomach began knotting together. She knew he already had a low opinion of her. But she couldn’t take the shame and judgment from him. From everyone else, yes. But not him. The silence dragged on.

She dared a glance at him. He was staring at the sky and breathing deeply, his nostrils flaring with the weight of it. He drew forward and put his feet on the ground, pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, and put it out on the bleacher in front of him. He gently took her hands and looked into her eyes. “It’s going to be ok. I’ll ask my old man to give me more shifts at the plant. I already have a little money saved away and we can…”

His voice faded into the distant reaches of her mind, her heartbeat deafening in her ears. She could feel the bleachers slowly closing in around her, and for a moment she thought she might retch into his lap. “Hopper,” she forced the words out of her mouth. Her tongue felt thick and she struggled to squeeze the words out. “It’s…it’s not yours. It’s Lonnie’s.” 

He pulled his hands away, slowly. “What?”

“Doc says I’m only 10 weeks,” she swiveled her body away from his and began knotting her hands together nervously again. “It…it’s not possible.”

“Why are you telling me this?” The accusation in his voice couldn’t mask the despair tinged beneath it. “Why would you…” He trailed off and silence weighed down on them again.

She focused intently on the blur of the track teams’ legs darting around the black top. They were sprinting now. She couldn’t stomach this. Any of this.

“You’re my best friend, Hop,” she managed to squeeze out. “I wanted you to hear it from me. Not…someone else.” Hot tears sprung up beneath her eyes, and she hated herself for it. Hated herself for all of this. She pinched the bridge of her nose, willing the tears away. She couldn’t break down. Not now. 

“Does Lonnie know?” His voice was so quiet she almost didn’t hear him. 

“Yeah. He…he’s happy.” 

Hopper nodded, getting to his feet.

Joyce grabbed his wrist. “Don’t,” she choked on the word, swallowing. “Please. Don’t.” She thought she couldn’t take his judgment…? She would prefer it to this.

He lowered himself, placing one knee on the bleacher, and both hands on her cheeks. He was level with her, his blue eyes piercing into her brown ones, the look of loss in his eyes unmistakable. “Do you love him?” His eyes searched hers for the truth. She couldn’t look away.

_I don’t know anymore_. 

“Yes,” she lied. If he knew the truth, he didn’t say so. Hopper leaned in and placed a gentle kiss to her forehead, drawing back. “See ya around, Horowitz.” He stood the rest of the way up and stalked away, pulling the pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket and lighting it as his figure faded into the changing colors of the sunset on the horizon. She watched him disappear around the entrance gate to the stadium, the smoke from his cigarette still visible in the fading red light.

Joyce put her palms to her eyes as two stifled sobs escaped her lips. Giving in, she leaned over, putting her head in her hands.

She wept.


	13. January, 1985

**January, 1985**

“A little birdie told me I’d find you here,” Hopper approached the front porch of the Byers’ house. Joyce was sitting on the steps, a large blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She didn’t respond. He sat down carefully next to her, the cold biting through his pants, instantly numbing his butt cheeks.

“Jesus Christ, Joyce, it’s f-freezing,” his teeth chattered on the last word, his breath foggy in the night air.

“I didn’t ask you to come,” she muttered, still not looking at him. He followed her gaze. A small green weed had managed to survive the last frost and was sneaking up through the crack of the sidewalk, trembling as another cold breeze blew by them.

“You’re gonna have to do better than that if you want to get rid of me,” Hopper pulled a cigarette out of his breast pocket, tapping it against the box. He lit it and took a puff, his breath quivering as he exhaled. Joyce wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

They sat in silence, the soft red glow from the embers on his cigarette their only source of light in the woods. He reached his hand out, offering it to her. She looked up then, her eyes red-rimmed and glassy from crying, the dark circles under her eyes more pronounced. Had she lost weight since the Snowball?

Hopper knew a thing or two about grief. It came in waves; coming and going as it pleased, with no mind to your job, your life…your sanity. Better one day and worse the next. One day a screaming monster threatening to rip itself out of your chest. The next day a dull buzzing that you could *just* manage to swallow down to get through your day.

And yet he worried just the same as she took the cigarette from his fingers, raising it to her lips (her hand was shaking). She handed it back to him, coughing, her attention directed again at the ground.

“You haven’t been sleeping.” He took another puff and leaned forward onto his knees, his butt now tingling uncomfortably against the frozen wood of the steps.

“Nightmares,” she murmured. She reached down and plucked the small weed from the ground, running her thumb and fingertip over the small stalk. 

A fresh wave of guilt swept over him. “I should have stopped by to….”

“I am not your responsibility,” she interrupted, sharply. She was right, of course. Joyce folded the small weed into her fist, squeezing it.

He put the cigarette out on the steps and slowly rose to his feet. “Try to get some sleep, Joyce.” He adjusted his hat and started towards his suburban.

“I’m cursed, Jim,” she blurted, her voice, for once, sounding as tiny as she was. The hopelessness in it sent a chill up his spine. He swiveled around. She was staring up at him, her eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill out onto her cheeks and freeze in the January air.

_“What are you doing? It’s freezing.”_

_“You ever feel cursed?”_

“What are you talking about?” He asked incredulously. He walked back over and sat down beside her again, his knees knocking against hers.

“Everything I touch… _everything_ ….goes to shit,” she confessed. “What my boys have gone through…Will in that, that _place_ ….my marriage….Bob….” her voice trembled as she said his name and he felt his heart breaking for her again. He leaned in and wrapped his right arm around her shoulders. She buried her face in his chest. Joyce took a few deep breaths and lifted her head, leaving small tear blotches on the fabric of his uniform. She wiped her eyes with the palms of her hands.

“I’m still here,” Hopper offered, tilting his head back slightly to meet her big brown eyes.

“What if it comes for you next?” The usual fierceness in her eyes was gone, replaced by a deep fear he’d seen only a handful of times in their lives. And he wished then that he could just _tell_ her…tell her that he would crawl on his hands and knees through the Upside Down, and back again, to be with her…always.

“It won’t,” he shrugged. “I won’t let it. I promise.”

She watched him for a moment and nodded, the firmness in his words calming her. She scooted in closer and took another shaky breath, resting her head on his shoulder. “You got any more of those cigarettes, Chief?”

They chain-smoked until sunrise.


	14. November, 1966

**November, 1966**

Joyce dangled her feet over the base of the tree house, gripping the edge with her hands, watching the ground beneath her. The moonlight and recent rain made the oranges and greens of the fall leaves glow faintly in the dark.

Footsteps approached, and the slushing grew more pronounced as the familiar cadence of his footfalls against the wet leaves drew closer. She wiped her eyes quickly with her hands, and then rubbed her palms back and forth across her thighs.

Hopper appeared moments later. It was impossible to see his face in the dim light, but she smiled all the same. He traipsed carefully up the steps, the wood groaning with his weight. “Knew you’d be here,” he remarked as he sat down beside her. He handed her a milkshake, setting his down on the other side of him.

“Strawberry?” She sniffed and took it from him, taking a long slurp from the straw.

“What else would it be?” He was close enough now that she could see his lopsided grin. Her favorite smile. They sat in comfortable silence, and a soft breeze blew through the trees, the leaves whistling around them.

Her mind returned to Lonnie and she felt hot tears spring back to her eyes. They fell against her will and she reached up to wipe her eyes again with the palms of her hands.

“Maybe this is all for the best,” Hopper offered, dangling his own feet over the edge of the tree house. If it had been anyone else, she would have hated them for saying it. But not Hop. 

“I love him,” Joyce choked out, sniffing again. “How is this the best thing?” She looked over at him miserably.

“He doesn’t deserve you, Joyce. He never did,” he cut in fiercely, his face stormy. She knew Hopper had never liked Lonnie. She caught him shooting more than one disgusted glance at Lonnie when he saw them together. But he never judged her.

She lit herself a cigarette, letting the nicotine fill her lungs and calm her nerves. Hopper reached his right hand out and she placed it gently in his fingers. Taking his own puff, he handed it back to her, the smoke encircling his head faintly visible in the moonlight.

“What do I do now?” She whispered, taking another deep drag of the cigarette and turning towards him again.

“You wait,” he took the cigarette from her. “Until the pain fades.”

“You sound like you’ve had experience with this, before,” she joked, wiping her sleeve across her eyes. He was staring at her now, but she couldn’t read his face. Wordlessly, he handed her the remainder of the cigarette and she finished it, putting it out on the wood beside her, exhaling one final time. 

She suddenly felt uncomfortable. Those old feelings were coming to the surface again. _No, not old. Always there._ She tried to push them back down, unsuccessfully.

“We better get back,” Joyce started standing up. “My mom said she was going to finish….” She paused and gasped. “My dress.”

Hopper glanced up at her, a confused look on his face.

“The winter prom,” she felt her throat constricting, and put her hands over her face, fresh tears threatening to fall.

“I’ll take you,” Hopper offered quietly. Joyce pulled her hands from her eyes. He was looking at his feet.

“You…you would do that?” Joyce asked, shocked. He hated dances. 

He shrugged. “You can’t miss your senior dance.” Using his left arm as leverage, he catapulted himself off the tree house, the leaves crunching against the soles of his shoes as he landed. “Whaddya say? I know I have 2 left feet, but we can’t let that dress go to waste!” 

Joyce felt a small smile coming back as he held his arms up. Joyce lowered herself slowly and jumped off the base of the tree house. He caught her effortlessly, placing her gently on the ground. They stared at one another for a moment, Joyce’s hands lingering a little too long on his arms.

“Last one to the end of the block is a rotten egg!” He turned suddenly and jogged away. Joyce laughed, starting after him into the trees.


	15. May, 1985

**May, 1985**

“This one?”

“No.”

“…this one.”

“NO.”

Hopper chucked another dress into the discard pile, rubbing his hand across his face. “Joyce….she needs to wear SOMETHING that….”

“It’s her spring fling, Hopper,” Joyce interrupted, picking up one of the skirts. “Not your funeral. You think a fourteen-year-old girl wants to wear *this* to her eighth-grade dance??” She shook the long black skirt in front of his face before flinging it back into the pile.

The retail clerk looked nervously between them, clasping and unclasping her hands.

“I don’t _want_ to give **_Mike_** any ideas,” he huffed angrily, taking a few menacing steps towards the steep pile of mangled skirts, dresses, and tops and flipping through them aggressively. “These are all….”

“Perfectly appropriate, Hopper.” Joyce stomped over, picking up a short pink dress. “This is…”

“Too short!” He grabbed it from her, holding it up. It looked even smaller next to his massive frame. He could feel his blood pressure spiking and he was starting to see red again. She’d barely spoken to him in weeks and she shows up at his house today (today!) in a frantic fit about the spring fling. 

_“It’s in 2 weeks! 2 weeks, Hopper! And you STILL haven’t gotten her a dress??” Frazzled, she’d grabbed the car keys and stalked out the cabin door. He just managed to clamber into her car before she sped off towards town._

“It…is…not!” Joyce reached up on her tiptoes and snatched it back out of his hand, holding it up against her worn jeans and blue work vest. “See? It comes all the way down to my knees!” She exclaimed, the exasperation in her voice unmistakable.

“She’s taller than you, now,” he huffed, pulling a cigarette from his breast pocket and lighting it, blowing a long string of smoke towards the ceiling.

“Sir, sir, you CANNOT smoke that in here!” the clerk, getting properly worked up now, adjusted the glasses on her nose and marched towards Hopper.

He held the cigarette out of her reach. “I’m the Chief of Police, and if I wanna smoke a goddamn cigarette...”

Joyce rolled her head back in frustration, tossing the pink dress back into the pile. “Fine.” She threw her hands in the air. “She doesn’t have to go at all, then! She can miss the dance with Mike because you are INcapable of….”

Hopper took another drag from the cigarette, ignoring the protests of the retail clerk and Joyce’s frustrated ranting. His attention was drawn to a row of dresses they had somehow missed amidst all the arguing. He stuck the cigarette in his mouth and slowly approached the rack. The dress was a navy blue, the material sheer on top, chiffon on the bottom, with a large blue bow in the middle. “…and are you even listening to me??” Joyce’s voice came back into focus. He held the dress up, turning around.

Joyce stopped, her hands falling off her hips. She looked up at him and then back at the dress. “You like this one!?” She asked, her exasperation softening to mild irritation. He held the dress out to her, and she took it.

“It’s pretty, Hop,” she ran her hand gently over the material. He took the cigarette out of his mouth as he watched her. The clerk used the opportunity to seize the cigarette, grumbling to herself as she walked to the front of the store.

Hopper pulled his eyes away from the dress, turning to sit down and lighting himself another one in the clerk’s absence. “She ditched me again, last night. Third week in a row. Wednesdays are board game and Triple Decker Eggo Extravaganza nights.” He puffed on the cigarette, leaning forward on his knees. The uniform pulled around his middle. _You’ve been drinking too much again_ , the voice in the back of his mind chided. He pushed it away, clasping his hands together in front of him.

Joyce’s eyes filled with sympathy, and she bent the dress over her arm. She sat down heavily beside him. “She’s got a boyfriend now, Hop. You remember what it was like at that age,” she smiled playfully, her nose crinkling in that teasing way of hers, knocking her shoulder against his. “She’s growing up.”

He stared at her as she eyed the cigarette in his hand. She snatched it and inhaled. She coughed, looking up at him.

The air in the room shifted. Joyce broke his gaze, looking away. An uncomfortable silence fell over them.

“You’ve been in a bad mood,” she remarked quietly to fill the silence, taking another drag from his cigarette. She coughed again.

“Surprised you even noticed,” he muttered. He swiveled around, grabbing his hat off the other chair and shoving it forcefully on his head.

She twisted her body to face him, bewildered. “What?”

“I can walk to work,” he stood abruptly, stalking towards the door.

“Hop, what about the dress?!” She shouted after him. He ignored her, slamming the door to the store behind him.


	16. August, 1965

**August, 1965**

Bonfires at Benny Hammond’s were usually shit shows. This one just sucked.

Joyce squatted on an old rusted lawn chair, listening to Bob Newby and Alice Gilbert prattle on about physics. She was on her sixth ( _no, seventh_ ) cigarette of the night. Alice and Bob sat across from her, their figures a blur from the smoke and crackling flames emanating upwards. She felt a small trickle of sweat on the back of her neck form and drip down below her bra and onto the top of her jeans. She stuck the cigarette back in her mouth and rolled up the sleeves on her plaid button-down.

“You sure you don’t want to join us over here, Joyce?” Bob asked across the fire pit.

She grunted, the cigarette still in her mouth. Bob shrugged, turning back to Alice Gilbert. Were they dating now? Joyce couldn’t remember. Chrissy would know.

Except Chrissy was currently fucking Hopper in the back of his Dad’s Oldsmobile in the driveway, while she was sitting here roasting like a pig on a stick. She felt her blood pressure rising again and grabbed the cigarette out of her mouth. Her and Hopper always came to Benny's bonfires together. They’d sit and gossip, have too many beers, and stagger home laughing hysterically at something unimportant.

Joyce took one final drag of her cigarette and chucked it into the pit. She grabbed a nearby (full) bottle of beer and chugged it. She slammed it down on the armrest of the lawn chair, wiping her arm across her mouth. She stood up and leaned to the right nearly losing her balance. _Had that been her fourth beer? Or fifth?_

“You okay? You need me to take you home?” Bob leapt up from his chair, Alice Gilbert all but forgotten.

Joyce waved him off. “I’m FINE,” she turned away taking another stumbling step forward. She stopped, letting her head clear for a second. She took another deep breath and headed towards the house to grab her jacket.

“Hey, Joyce? Where’s Jim?” Benny sauntered towards her. “He needed to….”

“Dunno,” Joyce interrupted, pushing past him. Her ears were ringing. “Why don’t you ask Chrissy Carpenter?!” She shouted behind her to Benny’s confusion as she continued towards the steps. She faced forwards again, nearly tripping over her own feet. She grabbed the railing, regaining her balance.

“Joyce Horowitz,” came a slurred voice from the deck. Joyce squinted in the dark. She painstakingly went up the five steps, gripping the railing for dear life. Lonnie Byers was swaying on a lawn chair, nursing a bottle of beer. He was completely smashed.

“Whaddya want, Lonnie,” Joyce sighed heavily wiping the beads of sweat off her forehead with her forearm. “I’m going home.”

“Must be nice,” Lonnie chuckled, taking another swig of the beer in his hands. “Mom kicked me out again. I got in a fight with her new boyfriend.”

Joyce paused. “That sucks,” she responded honestly.

“Yeah,” he let out a bark of laughter. “But whaddya gonna do?” Joyce took a hesitant step forward. “You staying with Billy?”

Lonnie tilted his head back and chugged the rest of the bottle. “Yup.” He burped loudly and Joyce cringed. 

“You should really head to Billy’s now, Lonnie.” Against her will, Joyce felt bad for him. He nodded, stood up, and fell right back down into his chair. He grimaced. 

“I’ll take you there,” Joyce offered, reaching for his arm, helping him back up. He leaned against her, nearly sending them toppling over. She grabbed the railing, saving them.

“You’re a good person, Joyce,” Lonnie slurred, patting her arm drunkenly. He paused and turned to her. “I’m not a very good person, am I?” His eyes filled with tears, and he hung his head in shame for a moment before picking it back up to look at her, his pupils pin pricks, unable to focus on her face.

“I’m sure you are,” she murmured compassionately, while steering them towards the back door. They stumbled, slowly, through the house and out the front door, nearly plowing straight into Chrissy and Hopper who were coming inside.

“Joyce?” Hopper, confused, looked between the two of them. “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking Lonnie home,” she declared forcefully, adjusting his arm around her shoulder, nearly falling against the door. 

Hopper shot Lonnie a disgusted glance. “I’m sure he can take care of himself. Look, Chrissy and I were going to leave anyway why don’t I take you…”

“No. Thank you.” Joyce spat, leaning forward a little too far. Lonnie laughed, grabbing for Hopper to steady himself. Hopper yanked his arm out of Lonnie’s reach. 

“Why don’t you just take your _girlfriend_ home,” Joyce hissed at him, waving her arm haphazardly at an amused Chrissy.

“Oooo. Sounds like someone is jealous,” Chrissy giggled, leaning into Hopper.

“Shut the FUCK up, Chrissy,” Joyce snarled. Her head was swimming now.

“Joyce, come on, you aren’t…” Hopper reached for her. 

“LEAVE me alone,” her voice cracked as she shoved his hand out of the way, belligerent.

Chrissy was right. She WAS jealous. And she hated herself for it. Things weren’t supposed to change because they’d promised each other. They’d promised each other and she had broken that promise. 

Friends didn’t break promises. 

“Come on, Lonnie,” she yanked at the drunken boy, ignoring Hopper’s protests. “Oh, yeah! Benny’s looking for you!” She yelled as her and Lonnie staggered the rest of the way down the driveway.


	17. November, 1983

**November, 1983**

“Hop? Hop!” Hopper jerked awake, blinking. Joyce was leaning over him, her hand on his shoulder. “You fell asleep,” she smiled. Disoriented, he looked around. He was in the chair next to Will’s bed. They were in the hospital. 

Getting his bearings, Hopper leaned his head back, cracking his neck. He stretched, glancing around. “What time is it?”

“A little after 1,” Joyce stood upright and turned away, smoothing out the covers on the bed. “I told you, you didn’t have to stay,” she bustled around, tucking in bits of the blanket around Will’s legs.

Hopper grunted as he pushed himself up, using the armrests on the chair to support his weight. “Didn’t want to leave the kid alone while you were gone.” Will was sleeping peacefully now while his mother fussed with the blankets. Joyce sat down on the edge of the bed and Hopper took a few steps forward, standing beside her, resting his left arm on the top of the bed frame. “You get ahold of Lonnie?”

Joyce pursed her lips and shook her head.

“Piece of shit,” Hopper muttered. The room grew silent, the soft ticking of the wall clock the only thing standing between them and total silence. He was grateful for it. Will stirred for a moment and then fell back into a deep sleep.

“He tried you know,” Joyce pushed the hair back on Will’s head, lovingly. “For a really long time he tried to be a good dad. I don’t think he knew how,” she admitted as her hands fell back into her lap. She clasped them together nervously.

“That’s no excuse,” Hopper growled. “If it was my kid, I would have….” He trailed off. And that was just the thing, wasn’t it? It wasn’t his kid. _His kid would never wake up again._

“I never said it was,” she snapped. She was frowning at him, her hand resting on Will’s leg protectively. 

He wiped a hand across his face and leaned over to pick up his hat, fiddling with the brim for a moment before turning back to Will and patting him gently on the arm. He started for the door when Joyce grabbed his hand, stopping him. He looked down at their hands clasped together and then back up at her.

“Thank you for saving my boy,” she whispered with such feeling that for a moment, just a moment, Hopper felt the vague stirrings of what could have been.

“And for saving me, too.” She added, squeezing his hand. He felt a faint smile ghosting his lips (a real smile!) and he squeezed back, letting go. He used his other hand to carefully place the hat back on his head. 

“You’ll be back tomorrow?” She asked, a vague tone of worry in her voice. He nodded, and she breathed a sigh of relief, turning back to Will. 

Hopper shut the door quietly behind him and stood outside, watching them through the window. 

His hand left a print on the glass after he walked away.


	18. January, 1967

**January, 1967**

She sat on top of the desk, her feet resting on the chair in front of her. Rain pattered gently against the windowpane, and clouds cast long shadows into the chemistry lab, the back half of the classroom bathed in darkness.

The door opened slowly and Hopper took a hesitant step inside, hovering in the doorway. “Why are we meeting in here?” His face half in shadow and his shoulders slumped, she barely recognized him.

“It was raining,” she shrugged, directing her attention at her worn down jeans and stained sneakers.

He didn’t respond. She heard him quietly approaching, the familiarity of his footfalls now little jabs of guilt that grew stronger as he drew closer. He stepped up and sat on the desk, mirroring her movements, his feet also resting on the chair in front of him.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I know.” The holidays made it easy, too easy. He’d been in Milwaukee for two weeks. She had to visit her Aunt Darlene. Yet with each passing day she felt as if this piece of her, this _core_ piece, was slowing unraveling and blowing away…like little wisps of smoke leaving a hole she would never again be able to fill.

Her hands shaking, she reached into the back pocket of her jeans, pulling out her cigarettes and lighting one. She inhaled the nicotine deeply. Gathering the courage to look at him, she shifted her body, her eyes alighting on his slumped frame. He was staring ahead at the shelf of glass beakers. The stubble on his face had become a full beard over the holiday break. She reached over, offering him the cigarette in her outstretched hand. He turned to her, looking down at the cigarette and then back up at her face.

He didn’t take it.

She sat there stupidly, her arm still extended towards him, feeling another big piece of her crumbling and falling away. She managed to pull her shaking hand back, sticking the cigarette in her mouth.

“You haven’t even _tried_ to…” he broke the silence, his voice forceful. “Why can’t we just talk about this?” He hissed, his voice louder, angry. _No, not angry. Hurt._

“There’s nothing to talk about, Hop.” Her voice muffled by the cigarette, she yanked it out of her mouth. “That’s the problem.”

“So, what are we supposed to do, then?” He retorted. She didn’t respond, staring at the cigarette in her hands. She took another drag, deliberately avoiding eye contact.

“You know what I think?” He stood up. “I think you felt something with me. I think you felt something with me, and now you’re scared, so you’re pushing me away!”

“I’m not scared,” she mumbled defensively, puffing on the last bit of the cigarette.

“Stop. LYING!” He slammed his hands down on the desk. She jumped, looking up at him. He was bent over the desk, that familiar gleam in his eyes replaced by something sad. And hollow.

“Fine.” She put the cigarette out on the desk, standing up to face him. “Fine.” She said again, running a hand across her forehead. “I’m scared. Congratulations! You’re right. And you know what it changes? NOTHING.”

“It changes EVERYTHING!” He bellowed, his voice cracking at the end. “You said so yourself! Do you want us to just pretend it never happened?!”

“YES!” Another piece broke off even as the words left her lips. She swallowed the tears that were threatening to surface and took a shaky breath.

He drew back slightly, his face grief-stricken. “Did that night really mean nothing to you?” She felt her resolve falling apart completely.

“ _Of course_ it did,” she professed, her vision going blurry as the tears came. She angrily attempted to wipe them away as he approached her. He took her face in his hands, resting his forehead against hers. Those feelings she had so artfully buried were crawling up out of her again in waves. She grabbed onto his arms leaning into him.

“Then why don’t you want to be with me?” His voice shook and she gripped his arms tighter.

“Hopper,” she pleaded. “It’s complicated.”

He picked his head up, staring down at her. “No, it’s not. It’s not, Joyce. It’s easy!”

“You don’t understand,” she begged, clenching and unclenching her hands on his forearms, nervously.

“Then, make me! Make me understand!” He cried, desperation creeping into his face.

“Relationships are…they’re messy, Hop,” Joyce pulled her right arm away and rested it gently on his chest, her voice raspy with emotion. “People…they…they get sick of each other. They fight and cheat and……….lie.” She looked up, meeting his eyes. “They…they stop loving each other and…..it ends. It _ends_. And that…that would just happen to us, too,” she whispered, pausing. “But friendships…friendships are forever. Right?”

He pulled his hands away from her face, taking a few steps back.

“RIGHT??” She shouted. It was more a sob than a shout, her outstretched hand still hanging limply in the air, the warmth of his hands lingering on her cheeks.

The door opened suddenly and the two of them swiveled around as Lonnie Byers stuck his head inside. “What’s going on? I heard shouting, Joyce, are you…”

“GET OUT!” She screamed at him. Taken aback, Lonnie looked at Hopper and then over again at Joyce. He stepped out carefully, shutting the door with a soft thud.

Joyce put a hand on her forehead, taking small, sharp breaths.

Hopper turned to face her, betrayal lined in his face. “What’s Lonnie doing here, Joyce?”

She looked away, her stomach knotting up. She felt sick. “He...he called me a few days ago, Hopper. We…we talked things over and we decided to….well we……”

He chuckled, sarcastically. “Ahhh, I see. So all that stuff you just said….that was all just bullshit, then.” 

“What?! No!” She took a step forward and he took one back. She stopped. “It’s the truth! Why can’t you understand…”

“Oh, I understand. You needed a rebound, and I was there. Right?” 

“Jim, please….”

“FUCK you, Joyce,” his lower lip quivered, and he turned from her abruptly, charging towards the door.

“HOP!” She shouted, desperately. The crumbling deep within her heart turned into an avalanche and it…. _God, it HURT_.

Lonnie re-opened the door just as Hopper reached the doorway. They both paused, staring at one another. Hopper then yanked his arm back and swung at Lonnie, the punch landing square in the middle of his face. Lonnie crumbled.

Joyce raced forwards, kneeling besides Lonnie, putting her hands underneath his head. She turned towards the door. “Hop! Come back! HOPPER!” She called out. But he was gone. Another sob escaped her as she leaned over a stunned Lonnie, who was just now managing to sit up.

“Fucking…ASSHOLE,” Lonnie snarled, putting his hand over his face, blood pouring through his fingers. “I think he broke my nose,” he mumbled, as Joyce helped him to his feet. He stood upright, holding his face towards the ceiling for a moment, watching her. 

_He knew. Of course, he knew._

He pulled his hand away from his nose. “Is there something I need to know about?” His eyes, wounded, searched her face for the truth.

She shook her head, pursing her lips, hot tears still stinging her eyes. He put his hands back over his bleeding nose and didn’t push her. And he never would. 

She felt that last little ( _core_ ) piece break away from her as she helped Lonnie out the door.


	19. February, 1985

**February, 1985**

The movie credits rolled on “The Empire Strikes Back,” and Jonathan began fiddling with the lever of the La-Z-Boy. The footrest suddenly popped back into the chair, his feet planting on the carpet. He stood up and stretched, yawning as he approached his mom. He leaned over and kissed Joyce on the cheek. “Gonna call Nancy and go to sleep,” he whispered.

“Okay, honey,” Joyce whispered back, blinking sleepily. Jonathan walked by and swatted at Hopper’s head playfully. “See ya, Chief.” Hopper ducked just out of reach, smiling. El stirred as he moved and he re-adjusted gently, lifting his arm further across the back of the couch. El’s head was on his chest, her mouth slightly open, her feet entangled with Will’s.

“What time is it?” Joyce leaned over slowly to the end table beside her, gingerly picking up her wristwatch. Will’s head was in her lap, his arm resting on her leg. “A little after 11,” she yawned as she spoke, placing the watch back on her wrist.

“I guess we have to move them then, huh?” Hopper remarked quietly, looking down at Will and El’s peaceful, sleeping faces. Joyce leaned her head back lazily on the couch, her eyes heavy-lidded. “Can we just lie here like this forever?” she murmured, her eyes closing completely.

His hand now only inches from her face, he pushed a small piece of hair away from her cheek with his fingers and she smiled, her eyes still closed. 

El picked her head up slowly from Hopper’s chest, looking around for a moment and rubbing her face. “We fell asleep?”

Joyce opened her eyes and she and Hopper exchanged another small smile. Joyce leaned over, murmuring into Will’s ear. Disoriented, he sat up, unwinding his feet from El’s.

“I better get you home,” Hopper stood, reaching for his hat on the end table beside him. El followed suit, wandering over towards the door to find her jacket.

“G’night, El, Hopper,” Will mumbled, before kissing Joyce on the cheek and stumbling slowly back to his bedroom. Joyce stuck her hands in her pockets, causally meandering towards the door.

“Thank you…for letting…us stay,” El said sincerely, choosing her words carefully.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Joyce kissed the girl on the top of the head.

“She was going stir crazy,” Hopper muttered as El fiddled with her zipper. “Mike went and got himself grounded this week, huh?” He raised his voice, and looked pointedly at El who rolled her eyes at him in response.

“It’s no problem,” Joyce shrugged, opening the front door for El and Hopper. A gust of wind blew through the crack as she opened it, and she let go to wrap her arms around her shoulders.

“Movie night every Friday?” El asked cheerfully, looking between the two of them as she stood in the open doorway.

Joyce’s face fell and she looked away. 

_“Hey Mom, Mom. Don’t forget we need to stop by the video store. It’s movie night with Bob.”_

Hopper felt something in his stomach fall, too. He gave El a small smile, patting her on the head. “Let’s not go crazy.” He pushed her outside and turned back to Joyce who was gripping the doorknob with her hand.

“Drive safe,” her voice toneless, she avoided his gaze, watching El clamber eagerly into the warmth of the suburban in the driveway.

“Night, Joyce.” He pulled the arms of his coat tighter around his shoulders as she shut the door behind him, that faint, warm glow in his chest freezing back over in the wintry air.


	20. August, 1959

**August, 1959**

Hopper was sitting on the base of the tree house as she approached, his shoulders sagged, staring at the ground. The humidity making the entire town a swamp, she sucked in another breath, wiping her hand across her forehead. It was after seven, but the sun still hadn’t set, its heat burning her face. A mosquito landed on her neck, and she swatted at it.

Hopper glanced up, the smacking sound drawing his attention. Sweat stained the front of his t-shirt and there were holes in the knees of his trousers. Just like hers. She climbed slowly up the steps and sat down heavily beside him. “My dad’s angry you interrupted dinner,” she chuckled.

He didn’t smile back. Her own smile fell off her face. “What’s wrong?”

“Mom’s leaving tomorrow. Told me she’s moving to Milwaukee,” Hopper looked away, directing his attention to a nearby bush. “Said Dad’s been fucking Marge from the plant and she was over it,” he looked back down at his feet and kicked them, hard, against one of the wooden support poles. It shook the entire tree house.

A vague sense of panic creeped into the pit of her stomach. “Are you going with her?” He shook his head. Relief flooded through her as she sat back on her elbows.

“I **_hate_** them,” he muttered, attempting to mask the grief in his voice. He was trying so hard to be strong. She could see the whites of his knuckles as he gripped the tree house. 

_“Shut the fuck up, you stupid bitch!”_

_“Or what?! You’ll make me??”_

Joyce squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for her parents’ screaming to fade back into her mind. She opened her eyes, resolute. “Who cares about them?? We don’t need them!” She said ferociously, sitting up.

He turned to face her, bemused. “They’re still our parents.”

“So what? We can make our _own_ family.” Joyce stood, abruptly. 

Hopper glanced up at her, skeptically. “You and me? A family?”

“Why not? What’s stopping us?” She put her hands on her hips. 

Hopper frowned, contemplating it. “Could…could Benny be in our family, too? If we wanted?”

“Yeah! And Chrissy and Alice! And anyone else we like!” She threw her arms up around her. “The sky’s the limit! Even old Mrs. Jenkins!” 

Hopper laughed. 

“Whaddya say?” She held out her hand.

He considered her for another minute before taking her hand, lifting himself up and wiping his hands on his trousers. “Deal. As long as we don’t actually invite old Mrs. Jenkins into our family. She smells like cat pee.” Joyce snorted and they both erupted into laughter. 

She suddenly reached over, shoving her palm into his shoulder. “Last one to the end of the block is a rotten egg!” She turned and fled, darting down the tree house steps. A breeze went by and her hair went flying up behind her as she ran, cooling her neck. She heard a breath of laughter behind her as he chased her through the trees.


	21. June, 1985

**June, 1985**

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

Hopper bounced the tennis ball behind the register, dangling his feet over the table, his legs smacking against the neon yellow clearance sign.

“Do you mind?” Joyce called out. “Sorry, Mrs. Jenkins yes…thank you, you have a good day, too.” He heard the bell over the door of Melvad’s jingle and the door swing shut as Joyce walked around the back of the register. “Don’t you have anything better to do?” She huffed, shoving his feet out of the way and grabbing a small box under the table.

“I am a deterrent, Joyce. Has there been any criminal activity on the premises while I’ve been here?” He lifted an eyebrow and Joyce rolled her eyes, adjusting the box in her arms and walking over to a nearby aisle, setting it down, and opening it.

_Thunk_. Hopper threw the tennis ball at the wall again. He had one of his old school gargantuan hangovers. And if he went into the office right now, Flo would know. She would know, and she would ask. 

He re-adjusted on the table, the small wooden figure in his back-pocket poking against his pants.

_Thunk_. _Thunk._

“How about you come here and help me with this, instead of sitting there like a bump on a log?” Joyce, annoyed, stood upright and put her hands on her hips staring at the tennis ball as it bounced against the wall. Shrugging, Hopper lowered himself off the table and chucked the ball towards the other end of the store, waltzing over and staring into the box of canned goods.

He picked up a can of green beans. His stomach churned and he took a careful breath, waiting for it to calm. “Remember when our parents used to make us eat this shit?” He held it out and Joyce grabbed it from him. “It’s good for you, Hopper,” she set it down on the shelf, artfully flicking her wrist and sending it neatly to the back of the row.

He followed suit and they worked in silence. He grabbed the last one and threw it in the air, catching it in his palm. “What are you going to do when Donald closes up shop?” He gently tossed it to her. She just managed to grab it with both hands, placing it carefully on the shelf.

She shrugged as she bent over to flatten the cardboard box. “I don’t know. I guess I could go scoop ice cream at the mall,” she joked, standing upright, holding the folded box in her hands.

_Friends don’t lie_.

She headed back to the front and Hopper looked away, suddenly aware of how empty the store was. A flash of red drew his attention to the floor. A customer had knocked one of the Hallmark cards off the display. He bent down to pick it up. 

**_“To my wife on her birthday._ **

**_The best part of everyday…_ **

**_is sharing it with you.”_ **

The figure in his pocket suddenly felt heavy. He placed his hand over it, gripping it against his backside.

“Hop?” Joyce questioned, reappearing at the front of the aisle with the price gun in her hand. He turned around, his hand still lingering on the small piece of painted wood. “What are you doing?”

He hesitated. “You…you would tell me, wouldn’t you? If something was bothering you, you…you would tell me…right?” _Maybe it wasn’t the store that felt empty._

That old look of fear came back into her eyes. “Of….of course…? What is going on? Did…did something happen? Are the kids….” He shook his head as she approached him. She calmed, taking a deep breath. Worry still lingering in her face, she gently placed her hand on his arm. “Are you sure everything’s been okay with you?”

Hopper looked back down at the card.

Gary called him yesterday afternoon. Joyce wanted him to fix up her house to place on the market. So she could leave Hawkins. 

_Leave him_.

He placed the card carefully back on the shelf and pulled the wooden figure out of his tan trousers, running his thumb across the brown paint on the top. He blew away a few more lingering dust particles and handed it to her.

“El found this the other day in my old stuff from ‘Nam,” he murmured. “I wanted to give it to you for your…” he trailed off as she reached for Wonder Woman, the tenderness in her face making his heart swell. She gently bandied it about, chuckling. “You kept this shitty thing all these years?”

“It’s not shitty!” He retorted, defensively. “It was my good luck charm.” She smiled up at him, her eyes misty, and for a moment, they weren’t standing in Melvad’s. They were in a poorly constructed tree house, their feet swinging lazily over the edge.

“Didn’t….didn’t it used to have a cape?” She turned it over in her hands, glancing back up at him skeptically.

“Yeah. Yeah, it did,” he replied wistfully, running his fingers over it one final time.

“You should keep it then, in case you need it,” she held it out to him. 

He shook his head. “I don’t need it anymore.” He pushed it back towards her, his hands clasped over hers, the little wooden doll beneath their fingers.

_Friends tell the truth,_ El’s voice echoed through his head as he gazed down at their hands.

The truth. 

_"The best part of everyday…_

_is sharing it with you_."

As if on cue, that pang hit him once again. Loneliness.

“Happy birthday, Joyce.” He pulled his hands away and went to retrieve his hat from the clearance table at the front of the shop.


	22. December, 1966

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE NOTE: While I chose not to use Archive Warnings for the work, *this* chapter is explicit.

**December, 1966**

Birds chirped loudly and a rooster crowed in the distance. Joyce opened her eyes slowly, blinking and lifting her fists to her face to wipe the sleep from her eyes. She turned over her right shoulder, grabbing the clock. 8:21 a.m. She groaned and rolled back over, coming face to face with Hopper who was sleeping peacefully, the bed sheet draped over his bare back.

She smiled, reaching over and gently rubbing her hand across his cheek. He opened his eyes and his face lit up. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she whispered shyly. He pulled her towards his chest, murmuring sleepily. _He leaned in slowly, hesitantly, placing his lips against hers. She opened her mouth, deepening the kiss, and he drew her closer, her back tingling where his hands rested against her skin and…God…she wanted him…._

He tilted his head back to look down at her, a lopsided grin on his face. Her favorite smile. His eyes twinkled mischievously. “Wanna share a smoke?”

Joyce gasped, smacking lightly at his arm. “Jim Hopper. Your father will have our heads.”

“That’s why we won’t get caught,” he whispered conspiratorially into her ear as he drew her back to his chest. She giggled, pushing him away. She rolled over to the other side of the bed, throwing the covers back and placing her feet delicately on the icy ground. She tiptoed over to Hopper’s desk chair. His suit and tie lay haphazardly on top, tangled up in the blue chiffon of her dress. The large blue bow hung lazily down the side, draped across his trousers.

_His hands fiddled desperately with the zipper on the dress. “Hopper,” she’d panted impatiently against his lips as the bow ripped, the sound making them devolve temporarily into breathless giggles as he’d pushed the straps of the dress off her shoulders…_

“Joyce.” She blinked, looking over at Hopper, who was staring at her in amusement, his eyes lingering on her naked body. She was gripping the pack of Camels in her hand. She held the package up, sheepishly. “Found ‘em.” She tiptoed back over to the bed bouncing onto her stomach.

Hopper grabbed the package from her, lighting a cigarette and tossing the lighter back onto the end table. He folded his arms behind his head, the cigarette hanging out of his mouth. She laid her head down on her forearms, watching him. Memorizing him. He’d let the stubble on his chin grow out. His piercing blue eyes were closed, content.

_She tilted her head back, gripping his shoulders as his tongue traced lazy circles on her neck, the stubble on his chin giving her goosebumps. She picked her head back up, placing her hands on his cheeks. He was hard, and she rubbed up against him, her lips eagerly finding his again. He let out a soft moan, his hands gripping her ass tighter._

She leaned forwards, snatching the cigarette out of his mouth. He squinted at her in jest as she took a puff, exhaling towards the ceiling. “What should we do, today?” She asked, smiling at him, flirtatiously. He shifted his weight to lie down beside her, their shoulders knocking.

“Dunno,” he commented, taking the cigarette out of her fingers. “Thought maybe we could help my old man change the oil in his car. Then maybe we could mow the lawn, rake some leaves. You could make one of your casseroles,” he glanced over at her, grinning. She snorted and they both erupted into laughter.

He flipped her onto her back playfully, and leaned over her, his arms straddling her stomach. She lifted her left hand, gently caressing his right arm.

_“Jim,” she’d gasped as her back arched. She dug her nails into his chest, the edges of her vision fading to black. She met his eyes, the normal sharp gleam now dark and unfocused with desire. The building intensity low in her abdomen released, ripples of pleasure coursing through her, her body jerking as she rode him._

She turned back to him, meeting his gaze. “Can we just lie here like this forever?” She whispered. He gently moved a piece of hair from her face and kissed her tenderly. She reached her hand up to rest it on his cheek drawing him down closer against her body. 

He pulled away suddenly, grinning again, and sat back, grabbing the cigarette out of her other hand, sticking it back in his mouth to take another long drag. He handed it back and she finished it, setting it beside the alarm clock, the embers still glowing ever so faintly.

She shifted back to him. He was watching her now, the smile gone, his face solemn. He rolled away slowly, resting his head back down on the pillow beside her.

The room grew quiet.

“Everything’s different now…isn’t it?” He studied her face, waiting for reassurance. 

_He sat up, pulling them closer again, pressing his forehead against hers as her breathing slowed. She wrapped her arms around his neck, the roaring in her ears fading to a dull buzzing. She closed her eyes, focused on the feeling of him still inside of her, his skin against hers. She was…_

_Home._

“Yeah. It is,” she murmured. The beginnings of fear began edging into her consciousness. She pushed it away as she leaned forwards to place her forehead against his, that familiar warmth pooling in her belly.

_“High school is different than junior high. Things change.”_

_“Well, we won’t let it. Promise?”_

_“Promise.”_

Their voices faded as she allowed herself to be fully consumed by what she’d always known.

That she loved him.

Maybe she always would.


	23. October, 1967 (Part II)

**October, 1967 (Part II)**

Hopper trudged to the very back of the bus, shoving his pack underneath the corner window seat and sitting down heavily. He laid his head against the cold of the bus frame behind him, closing his eyes for a moment. _Someone was watching him_. He picked his head back up.

A little girl in the seat in front of him sat backwards on her toes, staring at him, her hands on the back of the seat. Her blonde hair was pulled up in pigtails, her big brown eyes intelligent and inquisitive. For a moment, he thought maybe she could read his thoughts.

“Sarah, stop staring at the man,” her mother chided, guiding the girl’s body back towards hers. She handed Sarah a small doll that the little girl snatched from her. She kissed the doll on the cheek.

 _Sarah. That was a nice name._

He pivoted, resting his cheek in his hand, watching the driver through his window placing the luggage in the bin under the bus. An old lady was pestering him about something. Waving her arms around, she pointed at the bin and then to the front of the bus. The driver was attempting to ignore her.

_“Do you want us to just pretend it never happened?”_

_“YES!”_

Hopper squeezed his eyes shut, her voice still ringing painfully in his head. He opened them. The old woman outside had calmed down now. Her bright pink heels glittered faintly as she shifted her weight on the gravel. The sun was setting, the yellow light fading to a dull pink on the horizon.

_“High school is different than junior high. Things change.”_

_“Well, we won’t let it. Promise?”_

_“Last one to the end of the block is a rotten egg!”_

Hopper reached into the pocket of his over sized coat and pulled out the wooden figure. Sitting back, he held it tenderly in his hands, scratching at a few pieces of red paint that were flaking away.

“What’s that?” Sarah reappeared, her head bobbing above the back of the seat. 

“Sarah!” Her mother, exclaimed, grabbing her arm. “I told you…”

“It’s okay,” Hopper interrupted, smiling. “I don’t mind.” Her mother turned back around, shrugging, returning to her book.

“I made it when I was your age,” Hopper held it up towards the girl.

Sarah grinned, cocking her head to the side. “It looks like Wonder Woman!”

“Yeah,” Hopper chuckled. “Wonder Woman.” 

_“You kept this shitty thing all these years?”_

_“It’s not shitty! It’s a good luck charm.”_

Hopper gently unclasped the red cape, handing it to the girl. “Here. For you.” Her eyes grew wide and she took it from him, turning it over in her hands. She jumped around and plopped down in her seat. “Mom, Mom look! A cape! Like Wonder Woman!” Sarah’s mother patted her daughter on the shoulder, her face still in her book.

The driver slammed the luggage bin, shaking the bus ever so slightly. “Bus 56 to Chicago! Last call,” he shouted.

_“Can we just lie here like this forever?”_

The old woman who had been arguing with the driver stepped up carefully into the bus, gripping the railing. She sat down heavily in one of the front row seats, folding in on herself ever so slightly. She was sitting alone.

“Last call, folks! Last call!” The driver shouted again. A young woman suddenly bounded up the steps, holding her hat to her head, looking frantic. Her eyes alighting on a man in the fifth or sixth row, she breathed a sigh of relief, sitting down beside him and leaning in for a kiss.

Hopper looked back down in his lap at Wonder Woman, running his fingers over the red paint. He thought then that if Joyce came running up the steps of the bus, too…to tell him not to go, because she loved him, that it didn’t matter that the baby wasn’t his...none of that fucking mattered…because they could make their _own_ family…and be together…he would stay. Instinctually, he looked behind him, watching the remaining stragglers climbing up into the other buses around him.

“Sir. Sir?” Hopper blinked, turning and looking up at the driver who had appeared above him. “Are you waiting for someone?”

Hopper glanced behind him again, before turning back to face the driver. He shook his head.

Satisfied, the driver turned away, strolling back to the front of the bus, settling down into his seat. He started the engine, the bus doors squeaking shut.

Sarah held her doll up in front of him, zooming it around in the air, the red cape now attached around the doll’s shoulders. “Look, Mommy! I gave Jane my cape!” She brought the doll back down, hugging it to her chest.

That last small, hopeful part of him flickering out, he tucked Wonder Woman into his jacket pocket as he sat back against the seat. 

_She wasn’t coming for him._

The bus pulled out of the station.


	24. Epilogue

**July, 1986**

“Hello?” Joyce’s voice echoed faintly in The Void. The black stretched on for what seemed like miles. She tilted her head up, the darkness a dome enclosing her from above, too. No stars, no lights. Just…nothingness. 

The last thing she remembered was falling asleep next to El, the girl’s hands clasped in her own as they lay together, noses touching, breathing in sync. For the last week and a half, El had padded quietly into her room and crawled into bed with her. It was far more comforting than Joyce would admit, and she’d been sleeping better than she had in a long time. _They were nearing the 1-year anniversary of…._

She clapped sharply, twice. The sound reverberated around her, and she could almost see the sound waves rushing away into the darkness. She frowned, folding and unfolding her hands in front of her face. _Odd._ Her hands weren’t holding anything and yet…. she could still…*feel* El’s fingers threaded through her own.

Joyce dropped her hands to her sides and took two steps forward. She heard, more than felt, a faint splashing sound. Joyce tilted her body forwards, looking down all around her. She was standing in two inches of clear water that stretched onward into the expanse. She felt her chest constricting, her breath growing shallow with fear. Was this a dream??? It didn’t feel like any dream she’d ever had before.

“Hello??” She called out, louder this time, her hands cupped around her mouth. She shuffled forwards another few feet, the cold water splashing against her ankles. “EL!” She yelled, desperately.

“Mom!”

Joyce swiveled around at the sound of her daughter’s voice. _She sounded so close_ …“El, where are you??” Her voice rose an octave in fear.

“Follow my voice!” Eleven called out. Joyce swiveled back around. El was coming from somewhere else now, her voice slightly muted in the darkness.

“I don’t understand!” She jogged forwards another ten feet, stopped again, looking around her. “Where are we??? What is this???”

She heard a sudden low growling and smacking behind her. Joyce slowly turned around. It was hunched over, eating something. Joyce felt her vision narrowing, terror creeping into her conscious. Holding her breath, she took a measured step backwards, carefully lowering her right foot into the water, grimacing.

_Plink._

The Demogorgon swung around and faced her, its petals opening, exposing its teeth. It let out a sharp roar. Joyce’s eyes widened in fear, her feet frozen to the water beneath her as it lapped lazily against the soles of her feet. 

She followed its face upwards as it rose to its feet and took two large steps towards her, letting out another piercing roar. Sensation returning to her legs, Joyce spun and fled, splashing through the water, her heart thudding loudly in her ears.

“Mom!” El’s voice faded away as Joyce’s feet pounded against the ground, the water stinging her bare skin as she ran. She shot a quick glance behind her. The Demogorgon was gaining, her tiny legs no match for its nine-foot strides. She tripped and went sprawling, her feet entangling beneath her. She landed, hard, gasping.

She shot up, scooting desperately backwards on her butt, facing the monster. It dropped down on all fours and crawled towards her, sniffing the air. It inched closer, and Joyce could count each of its razor-sharp teeth. She squeezed her eyes shut, turning her face away. 

_It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream, it’s just a….._

She felt a _whoosh_ inches from her face as it spun around. It was retreating. It let out a final roar, as she heard it thudding away. She opened one eyelid slowly, and then the other. The Demogorgon was gone, running at breakneck speed in the opposite direction, its backside fading into the blackness. 

Joyce thought she might throw up. Or piss her pants. Still trying to decide which one, she lifted herself up from the ground, her arms and legs shaking. She held her arms out in front of her face again. She could still feel El’s hands in her own. A small burst of comfort coursed through her, and her breathing began to slow again.

She lowered her arms.

A skinny man sat on his haunches in front of her, fiddling with something. A small bunk sat a mere five feet from him, a solid piece of rusted metal thrown together with a few screws. She noted the small stained cot that lay haphazardly on top of it, chunks of the mattress ripped out by rats. He adjusted his seating position, and she could now see the radio in his soiled hands. _There was something SO familiar…._

Another turn of the knob and static erupted loudly. She winced, placing her hands over her ears. The sound reverberated around her, filling her. It dulled then, becoming a white noise in the background of her mind.

The man lifted his head, holding the radio up to his mouth. His face was drawn and gaunt, his face hairless. His head had been shaved. His bony fingers tightened around the radio. “Day 362,” his raspy voice felt like it was coming from inside of her. “I got to eat today! It was no Triple Decker Eggo Extravaganza, but it will have to do.” He let out a low raspy chuckle and then paused, removing his hand from the loudspeaker and lowering his head. He took a deep breath, putting his finger back on the button. “Kid…listen, kid…they’re going to find this thing, soon. So if…if you’re there. Please just…give me a sign.”

Joyce was approaching slowly, her heart sitting in her stomach. She lowered herself to the ground, her eyes fixated on his face.

His hand shaking, he tried again. “El….please. Anyone,” he whispered, desperately.

“Jim,” Joyce exhaled, a prayer, that came from deep within the broken pieces of her heart. It enveloped her, floating towards him, turning into a cloud of smoke that evaporated as it circled around his emaciated frame.

Hopper gasped, almost inaudibly, looking down at the radio in his hands. He lifted his face, and for a moment it was as if he was looking right at her. His eyes sharpened, that familiar gleam returning from faraway to replace the hunger-filled fog in his cloudy blue eyes.

“Joyce….?” The tenderness in his questioning voice brought tears to her eyes. It was him. She knew it in her bones. 

Desperate for contact, she leaned forward to place her hand on his cheek. He dropped the radio suddenly. It clanged loudly, scattering a few feet away from him. He turned away towards someone, or something, his face frozen in fear.

His body faded into a wispy trail of smoke just as her hand reached his face. It twirled up around her head, vanishing into The Void. “No,” she gasped, watching it float away.

“No!” She shouted louder, grabbing for it. “Hop! Come back! HOPPER!” Hysteria set in, and deep aching sobs escaped from her chest as she grabbed fruitlessly at the air in front of her.

“Mom!” It was El again. “Hold on, I’m coming!” With each word her voice grew closer. 

“Hopper! El! Please, bring him back!” Her anguished voice echoed around her. The grief she had so artfully buried was crawling up out of her again in waves, threatening to choke her.

“MOM.” Someone grabbed her and spun her around. El. She took Joyce’s shoulders in her hands, shaking her firmly. 

Joyce’s eyes popped open, and she scrambled up onto her elbows. She was back in her bedroom again, her bed sheets tangled around her legs, this darkness a familiar one, the moonlight streaming through the blinds into the room. Another sob escaped her as she took a heaving breath, her heart thudding loudly in her chest.

El had already hopped off the bed and flipped the light switch on. Joyce gasped, disoriented, shielding her face with her right arm, shoving the covers off with her other. Her body was drenched in sweat.

El reappeared, kneeling on the ground beside Joyce, grabbing her hands in her own again. “Mom, Mom,” there was desperation in the girl’s voice. “Where was he? Where was my Dad?”

“I don’t…I don’t know, he just….” Joyce took another deep breath wiping away the tears blurring her vision. Her eyes landed on El’s face. Two large pools of blood under El’s nose had dripped down over her mouth and onto her nightshirt.

“Your powers,” Joyce whispered.

El reached up and wiped her nightshirt across her nose, lowering it. “I’ve…been…looking.”

“What?”

“I…I’ve never taken anyone with me before,” the shock in her voice was unmistakable.

“Taken you where? El, what is…Hopper he was somewhere that….but I could still….I could almost *feel* him….” Her rambling trailed off as El grabbed a t-shirt lying on the edge of the bed, starting to wrap it around her eyes. 

“I need to go back,” the firmness in El’s voice grounded her.

Realization dawning, Joyce reached forwards and grabbed her arm. “Take me back. I’m going back with you!” She shouted.

El stood up, gripping Joyce’s arms in her own, the t-shirt still in her hands. “No. Too dangerous.”

Joyce squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. “But I have to….I _have_ to see him, El….”

El wrapped her arms around Joyce’s shoulders, holding her tightly. “I understand.” El pulled away. “But I need to do this. You need to call everyone.”

The door of Joyce's room flew open. Will and Jonathan came running in, panic on their faces. “Mom, what’s…what’s going on? We heard shouting are you…are you okay?” Jonathan stopped, his eyes alighting on Eleven’s blood-stained face.

Looking between El and his Mom, Will drifted towards them, sitting gingerly next to El as she placed the t-shirt over her eyes. Joyce watched her children for another moment, her breath catching in the back of her throat.

 _Hold on, Hop,_ she begged _. We’re coming for you._

_I’m coming for you._


End file.
